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A gut poet and anarchist, Wesley Teal's poetry is intence, emotive, and profound.
Wesley Teal is a poet/revolutionary specializing in "gut poetry." His words come straight from the soul of the matter, hitting home on topics ranging from love to politics.
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #2,986
Peak in subgenre #55
Author
Wesley Teal
Uploaded
May 19, 2005
Track Files
MP3
MP3 2.3 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
Dandelion Rant #1
take a scattering of souls
and throw
them all into this city.
let their hearts flow
into each other,
sharing the secrets of souls
grown up alone,
because things are rarely this close (to home.)
the pills that people pop
seem to be a sign of this society's
fading future,
so you can keep your pills the fuck out of my body.
this obviously ain't workin'
since it ain't makin' anybody happy.
i never want to live in your respectable neighborhoods
where i would always be aware
that we're all white
(because those darker shades are just plain dangerous)
and i would never dress right
or keep my chemical lawn clean
(because if you don't have conformity
you just might get weeds.)
and frankly, i find that the dandelion
adds a little color to the status-symbol-green
of dollar bills and gasoline-burnin' machines,
so i will not buy into these dreams
about boot straps
and manifest (genocidal) destiny
or any semantical arguments
about who gets to tell who
what to do
because of birthright. status. or position.
(secret: i've got a confession.
i don't believe in anything you
consider reality.)
i don't take lies at face value.
i don't drink life 'til i'm drunk,
just 'til i'm exhausted
because reality is tiring
and the american dream is just a fantasy
so there's no use sleepin' on it
('cause it's happenin' now.)
i'm tired of too-tan platinum blondes
with legs shaven so sharp they shine
and make up caked up to their anorexic eyeballs
who try so hard to make themselves not themselves
that they hardly even seem human.
(don't you ever get dirty?)
i prefer women with flesh and fat,
hair and sweat, unperfumed and unembarrassed
whose words walk casually
through the depths of obscurity
and build dynamic clarity
out of images and memories.
women with hearts like grenades
that fight and fuck whenever,
whoever,
however
they want
and never let a false sense of
(im)morality get in their way
in this hypocritical,
puritanical-sexfiend country
where sex is the most sought after dirty deed
as if passion and love could ever be unclean.
tv sells sex like another commodity
while love is left to fend for itself
forgotten and left up on a back shelf
by this commercial-commercial-buy-me society
but it grows out through windows
and over into yards
pushing and thriving
into open hearts,
because love's a weed
that lives and dies
wherever it can take root,
even on your perfect chemical clean lawn,
but of course you kill it.
(why bother living if you've missed the whole point of being alive?)
you say you prize liberty,
but you'll never be free in this land of the free (with proof of purchase)
until you realize that
everything
is an advertisement
and the money you make
was made by somebody else before,
and that somebody probably needed it more.
that government
is meant to govern those
who would choose to take control
of their own lives
and that black, white, yellow, or red
if we work for a living, then we sleep in the same bed
and it's so goddamn crowded
that if we don't wake up soon,
we may never get out of it.
i was raised with the idea that people aren't slaves
and worthless commodities,
(“customer check out. aisle three.â€)
where the perfect lawn isn't worth as much
as the perfect heart,
so,
don't give me your mansions, man,
with big tvs and high-polished friends.
just give me your ghettos
with their too high rent,
a patch of dirt,
or just a crack in the pavement
wherever there's room for a dandelion to bloom
and make a difference.
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